The Clothes Horse

60 notes

thevirtualhermit:

He was coming too late

The hopes she had nurtured

Had perished like leaves

With fall, but she stood still

Waiting for his arrival

A forgotten scarecrow in the

Frozen tundra, wondering

If his insistent sun could

Melt the ice within her.

Filed under spilled ink

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    Somehow…this speaks to me.
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